Before Fire Can Catch Me
by The Whispering Panda
Summary: The tragic tale of a girl from District One who is thrown into an arena to fight to the death in an intricate tournament designed for the ninth Quarter Quell. This is her story; her fight to stay alive. But the Games never leave anyone unscarred. OC.
1. My Father's Daughter

_This, as it was suggested to me, is a detailed account of the 225th Hunger Games from the point of view of a tribute from District One._

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><p>"For the ninth Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that the Dark Days lasted for four deadly months, the Games will take place in a series of four rounds, the victors of each round facing off with one another until one remains. A... tournament of sorts."<p>

My mother, listening from another room, squeals in delight.

"Oh, I love the Quarter Quells! You know, I was your age when the last one occurred. So interesting. There was no victor! They killed off the last tribute standing with a flock of bird muttations. She screamed for at least half an hour straight..." she rambles on and on, like our Capitol escort, Shrill Sweden. She never shuts up.

I've never understood my mother's fascination with the Games. She actually enjoys them, bets on them even. I bet anything it's the main topic of the pillow-talk that takes place after she's done disgracing our family with one of her lovers. My father is too busy packaging and shipping District One's exports to notice her sexual betrayal. But I notice.

Of course, who could blame the stumbling fools who have the great honor of laying in her bed. She's a beauty, my mother, that's for sure. Long locks of copper hair, full red lips, long legs, big grey eyes. My brothers share these same characteristics. But me? No. I look like my dad. Short, slightly heavy-set, with straight ugly hair, small lips, and green eyes. Oh, I do have curves, though. My mother always comments on my figure, how I got it from her and how I should thanks her for the way the boys stare. Not at my face, though. Lower. But why should I thank her? I have no interest in them. And their only interest is in the fullness of my bottom, the size of my breasts. My mother tries to dress me in more provacotive clothing, but I prefer my sweatshirt and jeans.

One day, things will be better for me. I'll move out, get a job, and live life happily. Just four more years. Four years until I turn eighteen, and then I can escape this fortress of lies and brutality. I will live on the other side of the district, where I'll never have contact with my mother or three brothers. My father, I can handle. We have much in common. We both despise the Games more than most in this district, and share the same interests; such as literature and science. He gets to weigh and polish the luxuries that get sent to the Capitol; even sneaks a few jewels here and there for his only daughter. Maybe, when my mother is dead and he is too old to care of himself, I might even take him in.

But for now, I clench my teeth and barrel through life, drowning out my mother's groans of pleasure with Bach, walking my father home from work, tolerating my brothers' taunts and pranks.

It's dinnertime, so I set the table just as my father comes home. My mother gives him a half-hearted kiss, but he's too fatigued to notice. He slumps into his chair and pokes at the spaghetti with little interest.

I clear my throat, seeing an opportunity to bring up a conversation. I never miss a chance to talk with my father.

"Anything exciting happen at work?" He stares at me blankly. I've seen that look before. It's that state of mind where you can only focus on one thing at a time, so you don't rush, or speak, or sometimes even move. I sit back, disappointed. Whenever my father drops into this heavy-eyed mode, the only thing that can bring him back is sleep. So I'll be dealing with my mother alone, tonight.

My father's hand moves toward his torn pocket. It's not a big tear, but I remember how it got there. It was right after I learned of my mother's miscellaneous guests. I begged my father not to go to work, not to leave me alone with _her. _Of course, I didn't tell him that. I told him I wasn't feeling well and I wanted him to take care of me. He told me my mother could do that. But I grabbed his jacket as he left. My grip was one of steel, but he's stronger. With one mighty tug he freed my hand from his coat, but not before ripping it.

He never let me repair the tear. He'd always say, "No, it's something to cling to when things get pretty bad." I know the feeling. When I get nervous, I brush my hair. He stares at the hole in his pocket. My brothers play pranks on me. My mother, being the whore that she is, defiles random young men. We all have our ways of staying sane.

I expect the hand to stay there, hidden away, safe from the world. But it crawls back out, this time holding something. As soon as I see the light glinting off the surface, I know what it is.

"A charm bracelet!" I squeal, and he closes the clasp around my outstretched wrist. "Oh, thank you!"

His mood disappears and the smile breaks out on his face. It seems he has tricked me. He's in no other state of mind than his own. "Anything for my little flower."

My mother rolls her eyes. He used to bring her gifts, before the extended hours at work and new overseers made any slip of merchandise into his pocket impossible to go unnoticed. After about a month of waiting for him to return in the dead of night, only to see him empty-handed, she got bored.

Eventually, the demand for these products slowed and many workers were laid off; including the new overseers. So my father began bringing gifts home again, only she didn't accept thim. Their flame had burned out. As our relationship grew, however, he brought these gifts to me.

I examine each bead, each charm on my wrist. Clear-cut diamonds, pearls, emeralds, and dots of sapphire decorate the wire where the sentimental charms do not take up space. There's a heart, to represent his love for me. A flower that stands for what I can only assume is my name. I count fifteen charms in all, things he must have been collecting and made himself. As I slip it over my hand to examine it in my fingers, my mother decides to go to bed early. More likely, she has a lover waiting for her upstairs.

My dad- I mean, my father and I spend the rest of our evening watching a rerun of the Victory Tour that happened not too long ago. I remember it all so well. The girl who won last year was from District Four. She'd killed both the tributes from One. They were the last two to die. But it's nice to see the poorer districts not celebrating, giving unconvincing claps and cheers as she accepts her plaque and gives a speech. I give a silent thank you to districts Five, Six, Nine, Eleven, and Twelve.

Days, weeks, months wiz by with nothing but a few memories left behind. In no time, the date of the reaping approaches. My mother is given a lovely dress from none other than the lad that appears in her bed most often. I think his name is Shadow, but I can't be sure, with all the "guests" we have. But this guy is definitely her favorite.

My father spares a few extra coins for my dress, a lovely pale purple dress that falls just above my knees. It's strapless, and the skirt, which begins at my hip, is decorated with small diamonds. I slip into the tall silver heels given to me by my mother. They're a little tight, but I can manage. My hair, usually straight and boring, falls in a waterfall of ashen brown ringlets, framing my frail face. I apply a light coat of lilac eyeshadow to bring out my green eyes, and outline them with a thin application of eyeliner.

My lips, thin and unremarkable, are more distinguished with the glossy pink color I've added, and my nails are filed to near perfection, painted pure white with little purple orchids painted on. My mother and I got manicures yesterday just for the occasion. I smile at my reflection, admiring - no, admitting my beauty.

"Honey, come on! The reaping starts at eleven," my father calls. I sigh. One of the disadvantages of being from District One is we have the earliest reaping.

"Coming, I'm coming," I reply and slip on my charm bracelet, which I always wear now.

The drive to the reaping is short; about ten minutes. We find a parking space and walk to the square. My brothers depart to go to their respective sections; one is sixteen, another seventeen, the third nineteen. He doesn't live with us, but he's here today.

I slip next to my friend, Shine. She gives me a quick hug for luck before the mayor begins his speech.


	2. Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow

_This chapter is shorter, yes. The chapter lengths will vary._

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><p>Yesterday, I made a list of all the things I'm going to pick up at the market after the reaping. Ham, rice, corn, and potatoes to make a hearty stew in celebration. Maybe a little wine for my parents. If I'm lucky I'll get a deal on soda pop for my brothers and me. I call it the "Tomorrow List." I started making it the day before the reaping the year I was eight; something to look forward to as I struggled to cope with the possibility of losing someone I loved. I hold that list in my clutched hand now as the mayor finishes speaking.<p>

Shrill Sweden makes her way to the podium. I can't help but make fun of her silly cotton candy dress, complete with fluffy tufts of the stuff glued on in odd places. She speaks for at least fifteen minutes before the mayor cuts her off and asks her to move things along.

"Oh, yes. Very well, then! On with the rrrreaping!" she says, rolling the "r." Shrill always does the male first, to, and I quote, "Spice things up a little." But when you've been "spicing" things up for ten years, it gets old.

"And this year's lucky male tribute is..." she pauses for effect, like every year. "Yacht Broeling!" There's a murmur in the crowd, and an eighteen year old boy emerges. He smiles, waves, and winks at his silent peers.

"Any volunteers?" Shrill asks. At this point, boys would usually be tripping over each other, trying to get into the Games. But no one wants to replace Yacht. He's an egoistic ass who we've all wanted to get rid of for years. Now's our chance.

"Well, that sure is... different. Give it up for Yacht Broeling, everybody!" Shrill chirps cheerfully. The people in the square applaud.

I clap because I'm glad he's dying, not for the sake of the Games and what they stand for. I'm sure that goes for mostly everyone.

"Now, for the courageous young lady!" Shrill takes her time walking to the crystal ball. _Please, don't let it be Shine, _I plea. I love her most in the world; her and my father. And since he's safe, she's the only person I feel the need to protect.

And it's not Shine. Because then the words are leaving her mouth, her lips forming the syllables I've never heard her speak. She's saying a name, but my ears have tuned her out. All I can think is that it's not Shine; we're both safe. But hands are pushing, pulling me, and my hearing comes back. Shrill's voice is pounding in my ears as she repeats my name.

"Orchid Caraway? Where are you, dear?" I swallow and move. Out of the crowd. Up the steps. Next to Shrill Sweden. Hoping with all my might that someone volunteers for me, and that it's not Shine who steps forward.

Shine doesn't step forward. No one does. I try to hide my bewilderment; the person reaped almost never is actually sent to the arena in this district. Unless they hate that person, or they're a trouble maker. I know the latter isn't true; I've never caused trouble for my fellow citizens. And I hardly speak to anyone, so I don't see how people can hate me.

_No, it's me who hates them. Their eagerness to fight, to kill. It repulses me to the point of vomitting. I hate them, and they know that. So no one is willing to take my place. _

"Let's hear it for our tributes, Yacht Broeling and Orchid Caraway!" Shrill says, and the cheers from the crowd are enormous. My vision blurs and I feel faint.

_They're cheering for me, for my death. They want me dead._

Yesterday, I made a list of all the things I'm going to pick up at the market after the reaping. I call it the "Tomorrow List." Today, that list is shredded in my hand as I'm ushered into the Justice Building, surrounded by Peacekeepers. It's thrown to the ground, still damp from last night's downpour. Crushed under boots. Never to be read. Its purpose disintegrated like whisps of smoke into the air. Gone.

I can hear the excitement of the crowd through the walls. They can't wait to see two of their least favorite people die a horrible, painful death. They're no better than the Capitol.

They've begun the betting now, and my mother will be among them. Betting against me.

It seems District One will not have a victor this year. Not if the people have what they want. Not if the odds are in their favor.

Of course, in _this_ game of odds, no one is very lucky.


	3. Don't Forget to Remember Me

_Please review if you've been reading, so I may acknowledge you.  
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><p>Shine is the first to come in and say goodbye.<p>

I'm sure we waste at least half an hour, just sitting there. She fights back tears for me. I choke back mine for her.

"You know you can do it. You may not be stronger than them, but you're smarter than they are. You can trick them. You're sly, cunning. You can win, Orchid." At this point, the tears have begun to flow down her cheeks.

"I know, Shine. I'll try. I really will."

Then she leaves. A few minutes later, my family comes in. I throw my arms around my father.

"I love you, sweetie. Remember," he whispers. "Use your brain."

"I will. I love you, Daddy." I sense his shock at my use of the word. I've never called him that before, except when I was a toddler. I've refrained from associating myself closely with him in case he were to break my heart, to shatter my image of him. Just like my mom did.

He pulls me tighter and I release my tears.

My mother murmurs comforting things, but I can tell she's preoccupied with the state of her hair in this humidity.

Faux, my oldest brother, hugs me next. He apologizes for the way he's treated me over the years, and assures me that he loves me; they all do. I nod.

The others, Gold and Brink, give me quick hugs. Then my hour is up.

My head is spinning as I ride in the car on my way to the train station. So many things they want me to remember. So many apologies. So much reassured love and feeling. And Shine. I'll never forget the look on her face as she begged me to win. And I know I have to do it.

I have too much to lose.


	4. The Sound of Silence

_Thank you to Aberrance, fishe153, and Sharene28 for reviewing this story._

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><p>I always imagined the inside of a train to be loud and rocky, like the ones that take our luxuries to other districts. But this is different. I can't feel the movement, even though we travel at 250 miles an hour. And the only sound comes from Yacht noisily eating dinner.<p>

The silence is welcome. It reminds me of the nights when I knew my mother was alone, when I could sleep peacefully. It was warm. It was protecting. It was safe.

Thinking of home just makes my stomach turn. I excuse myself and hide in my room until Galaxy Bean, my mentor, calls me to the sitting room where we will watch the recap of the reapings.

I settle on the plush couch next to Galaxy and Shrill Sweden. The recap begins with us. Yacht's name is called, then mine, then the cheers of our relieved district. The seventeen year old tributes from District Two are named Baer and Thorne; menacing names. And they look just as deadly. Yacht makes a snide remark about how he can easily wipe them both out with one swing of his arm. I roll my eyes. His arrogance will mean his demise.

Most of the other tributes are bigger, stronger, and braver than me. With every name called, every tall and healthy enough teenager that stands on the stage, my hope dies a little more. It's only a few tributes that I know I have a chance of defeating. The terrified girl from Five. The starved boy from Six. The little girl from Ten. And both tributes from Twelve, both so deprived of nutrition that they might drop dead before we reach the arena.

I wonder what they think of the rest of us, of me. Do they know they stand no chance? Surely they must. Do they see me as a threat? Maybe. The fact that I'm from One will give me an advantage, until I actually have to handle a weapon. Then my secret will be out.

After the reapings are done, I go straight to bed. I keep seeing certain tributes in my mind. Baer from Two. Cleopatra from Five. Davy from Six. Rumor from Ten. Vikus and Cora from Twelve. And an unexpected one; Griffin from Ten. I can't understand why he sticks out so much. I could never beat him; he's fifteen and looks strong enough to break my arm with his bare hands. I bet he handles the cattle in his district. He could easily hold a bull steady with those muscles...

And then I understand. The idea is so shocking and strange that I open my eyes with a jolt.

No, no, it's a mistake. It's false. It's not true, it can't be because something like this could ruin everything, and I'd never leave the arena for sure. A crush in the Hunger Games... it would destroy me.

So I burrow down in my comforter and erase him from my mind. There, it's gone. Not I have to think of anything, anything at all, other than Griffin.

And he's all I think about all night.

In the morning, I eat breakfast. Well, not all of my breakfast. Just the fruit. I'm not hungry for the rest.

We arrive to the Capitol while I'm chewing the last bite. I stand and fly to the window. Yacht stays seated.

"It can't compare to what I see every day," he says drily. I look at him, questioning. He clarifies, "In the mirror."

But the Capitol is much better than Yacht's face. The candy colors and sparkling buildings give an almost nuclear glow. Crowds of cheering citizens wave and hop. I smile coyly and raise my hand to wave, but think better of it. It settles back down next to my thigh. They're cheering for my death, just like those in District One. They don't deserve my notice.

I back away in disgust as we slow to a stop.


	5. How to Play

_Here I'd like to acknowledge my L.A. teacher, Mr. M. Thank you for always pushing me to be the best writer I can be. I'm really going to miss you next year.  
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><p>Immediately, I'm whisked away to the Training Center. It's a blur of motion and faces until I'm in the care of my prep team.<p>

The first thing they do to me is strip me down and wax every inch of my skin. Living in District One, my mother would take me to spas to have this done regularly. It's nothing new. Then they file and paint my nails a glistening clear. They catch the light and dazzle, making them appear to be made of fluorescent beams.

My hair is curled in large ringlets and pinned back on both sides with beautiful diamond clips. My makeup is silver and shines just like my nails.

But none of it is as impressive as the dress.

My stylist, Glamour, comes in shortly after my prep team is done with my hair. He takes my face in his hands and gives me one kiss on each cheek. My skin crawls with the touch of his plumped lips.

"Well, my Sweet. Shall we get you into your gown?" he asks in a voice I think is far too high for a male. But I nod, pursing my lips to keep from smiling.

He makes me get into some tall glass heels and then close my eyes and put my hands over my head. I feel the fabric slip over my skin, and the first thing I notice is how cold it is. And how light. It feels as if I'm wearing tissue paper.

When I open my eyes, my first reaction is confusion. My dress is clear - or it looks like it is. But there must be a cloth between me and the dress, because I'm fully covered. The silky smooth gown appears to be made of crystal. It changes forms as I move and makes me look stunning. It falls just below my knees in a flowing skirt embedded with small diamonds.

"Ooh," I say as I turn, slowly, and admire Glamour's work. He nods, approvingly, and leads me to where Yacht waits with our mentors, Shrill, and the rest of our support team. He's dressed in a black shirt with a blazer and slacks which also shine, but he's not dressed in crystal. He's a dazzling ruby.

"You look nice," I say with a small smile.

"Duh," he scoffs.

"Alright, we should get to your chariots. Come on, let's go!" Shrill says with a wave, and starts toward the doors. We obediently follow her.

"Okay, you two. Stand here. And Orchid, you go here. Yes, that will work," she adds, adjusting our positions on the chariot. Galaxy approaches and takes my hand.

"Remember, the rules are to kill. All of the others, including Yacht, is an enemy. Don't get too familiar. Don't acknowledge him at all. Just focus on the audience. You want them to like you. So smile, maybe wave. I know they're repulsive. I know you despise them. But they're the difference between your life and death. Just do it," she whispers in my ear and gives my hands a tight squeeze of reassurance. We're seperated as the chariot lurches into motion.


	6. Happy Hunger Games

_Sorry for the long wait. Here is the next chapter.  
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><p>The crowd lets out a synchronized gasp as we roll into the wide street. I know my dress must be stunning. I feel beautiful for the first time since the reaping.<p>

The ride is quick, the moment swiftly passing instead of dragging out like I expected. I almost miss my death being cheered on.

"Welcome, tributes of the 225th annual Hunger Games!" President Thyme says as he takes the stage. I fight to keep a straight face. I can't help it. The sight of his flamboyant purple hair that sticks out around his head always makes me laugh.

"All of your costumes look very lovely this evening," he continues. "Now, you all know why you are here. You fight for your lives, you fight for those who lost their lives before you. And though only one may win, all will have glory."

_That's a joke, _I think. Yacht nudges me in the ribs. I scowl at him, but he's pointing at a chariot across the circle. It's the District Six tributes. They've begun mocking Thyme, moving their hands and lips as he does, in jerky, akward motions. I shake my head. They're willingly ensuring that they never return.

"Now, I know all of you are wondering how this Quarter Quell will work. So I will clarify. In the first round, the twenty-four tributes will be split in half and placed in two seperate arenas. When six tributes remain in each arena, they will be split again and placed in two different arenas for round two. The remaining four from each arena will be placed in two more arenas until two are left. And finally, the top four tributes will then be placed in one final arena to battle for the crown. I already see confusion on some of your faces. It will be better understood in a few days when the Games begin. Happy Hunger Games!"

That's it. Our chariot makes one final lap around the city circle and before I know it I'm in the Training Center.

"Great," Galaxy says and helps me off the chariot. "You were awesome. I wouldn't be surprised if I can set you up with sponsors tonight."

"Thank you," I say. She leads me into an elevator. We end up riding with Rumor and Griffin. I wish my floor was higher up, because I feel really comfortable around both of them. I know I want them for allies. But it's only a moment before the doors open on the first floor. I wave goodbye to them when I leave.

"What was that?" Yacht asks gruffly.

"What?" I say, confused.

"You waved."

"Yeah, so?"

"They're from Ten."

I raise my eyebrows. He continues, "Don't bother being nice to them. They'll be dead in the first round."

"And you're so sure that you won't be?"

"Um, _duh_. I'm final eight material. Unlike _some_ people I know, who shall remain nameless..." he trails off as he walks away.

I sigh, exasperated. His attitude wouldn't get him far in One, but no one with any morals wins the Games. Maybe he's right. Someone as hearless and cocky as himself could very well make it to the final eight.

I go to my room and scrub the makeup from my face. There's a satin nightgown laid out for me, so I slip into it before realizing that I still have to eat dinner. But I don't want to change and I _don't _want to go out there in my pajamas. So instead I order a meal of ham and stew and hot chocolate. When I've stuffed the last bite into my mouth, it's all I can do to set the plate on my bedside table before I lie down and fall asleep.

My dream is one of those weird ones that, even though you sleep through the night, you have lots of dreams. The first is a frantic chase through the Capitol. But I'm the one who's chasing... who? I don't know the person in my dream. Oh, wait. It's the boy from Two, Thorne. But why aren't the roles reversed?

Somehow I end up in the city circle, covered in crystals that weigh me down and cuts into my flesh. Yacht is nudging me, pointing to something in the distance. I can't make out what it is, and when I ask him about it, he just laughs and says, "They're from Ten."

Next, I'm with Griffin. He's on a horse, the same spotted one that pulled his chariot. He's reaching his hand down, wants me to take it. I want to, but I feel Galaxy watching me and know she would disapprove of me being romantically involved with my competitor. So I smile and shake my head. He looks hurt, and I immediately begin to climb onto the saddle, to take it back. But it's too late.

He rides away, to the land beyond the fog, where I will never reach him.


	7. Making Friends

_Maybe you could share this story with your friends? Recommend it, advertise in one of your stories, etc. I'd appreciate some more readers.  
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><p>Training, day one. The most intimidating. You make a first impression on the other tributes, get to know one another, even form alliances. Being from One, I'll be expected to be in the Career group, but the others will want to see my skills first. When they find that I have next to none, I'll be laughed at and excluded.<p>

It doesn't bother me so much as it did at first. Rumor and Griffin are my ally preferences. I couldn't care less about the Careers.

Yacht slept in this morning, and Shrill _insisted _that we show up together. So we're the last two tributes to walk through the door at 10:15. The head instructor, Kenna, has already begun listing each station.

I feel 22 pairs of eyes on me as I join the group of tributes. Yacht breaks away from me to join his newly-found friends. Kenna doesn't bat an eye; she just continues as if nothing is going on. As if nothing exists outside of her mind.

When she releases us to train, I immediately find Rumor. She's headed toward the knot-tying station. I meander her way, trying not to look too eager to meet up with her.

By the time I've reached her, she's already tied a noose - no, a lasso. She's spinning it over her head and turns to face me. Our eyes meet, and I raise my arm to wave. But it's caught on something. I look down.

No, it's caught _by _something. I didn't even notice the fact that Rumor had thrown the loop around me, trapping my arms down. The instructor nods and compliments her, but I just stare in amazement. How could I not notice?

"Shouldn't you be with your... friends?" Rumor asks, glancing at the Careers.

"I'm not like that. Even if I was good enough with weapons for them to accept me, I wouldn't want to team up with them. I like people my own size." This makes her laugh, as we are the same age and about the same height.

"I'm Rumor. Rumor Stark," she says, extending her right hand. I shake it.

"Orchid Caraway," I reply.

"How well can you tie a knot?" she asks.

"Not at all. I mean, I can tie my shoes, but-"

"It's okay. I'll show you." Between Rumor and the instructor, I look like a child, trying to build snares. Even the simplest trap refuses to hold together.

Rumor reaches over and helps me finish one of the more complicated loops.

"Teaching your friend how to catch a cow?" a voice says from behind me. A male voice. My chest tightens in anticipation of who I might find standing behind me. I don't get a chance to turn.

"Hey, I'm Griffin," he says, sitting on the other side of me. I smile, and he returns it with a brilliant flash of his teeth.

I'm speechless. And embarrassed. I can't afford to have my words tied now. Luckily, Rumor saves me.

"This is Orchtid, my new ally." I turn to her and mouth the words _thank you. _She raises her eyebrows, but I shake my head. _Later. _She seems to understand and drops the matter for now.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Griffin says.

"What do you mean?" Rumor asks.

"You guys might never run into each other in the Games, you know, with the multiple arenas."

"I didn't even think about that," I say.

"Best thing to do would make more friends. Get people on your side. The more allies you make, the more likely it is you run into one of them."

"Good idea," Rumor says. I glance over at the camouflaging station, where Vikus, the boy from Twelve, is painting himself into a rock.

"How about him?" I ask. I know my impulse to team up with all the tiny, helpless tributes is strange, but we'd be stronger together. Who knows? We might all end up in the same arena and kick some ass.

"Um, sure. I talked to Cora, his district partner. She's really nice. Could we team up with her, too?" Rumor asks.

"Yeah," I say, taking her arm and pulling her in Vikus's direction.

"Uh, hello? Don't I get a say?" Griffin asks.

"You want to team up?" I ask. As soon as it's out of my mouth, I realize how stupid I must sound.

"Yeah. We already decided it on the train. Well, Rumor and I decided. And any ally of Rumor's is an ally of mine."

"Uh-huh. So, who do you want for an ally?" Rumor asks.

"Nova from Three. She's smart. And Darius from Eleven. He's strong, good with weapons. Look," he says, pointing toward the tall, tan boy who can swing a heavy sword like it weighs nothing.

"Okay," Rumor says. "But Vikus first." So we join him, decorating ourselves into fields, trees, and even sky.

Vikus, it turns out, is very enthusiastic about joining our group. But Cora is hesitant, and in the end she decides it might be better to fly solo.

Nova and Darius join us as well. I worry a bit about the size of our group. If there's too many of us moving through a forest, what's the chance we'd be found?

If I had joined the Careers, I'd be in a group of the same size, but with more skilled allies. Still, I don't know how many of my allies I'll end up with, if at all.

By lunchtime on the second day of training, our group has grown to eight people. The boys from Three and Five have joined us, Adrian and Nolan.

I feel pretty immature, since Rumor and I are the youngest in the group. Vikus, though he looks twelve, is really sixteen. Nova is seventeen, Darius is fifteen, and Adrian and Nolan are eighteen.

"So, have any of you begun thinking about what you're going to do for your private sessions?" Griffin asks.

"Like it'll matter," Vikus says. "The Gamemakers won't pay attention to me. They'll probably just give me a five or something because none of them will know what I did, yet they'll all lie about it."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You'll do fine," Nova says reassuringly.

"Easy for you to say, you're what? The... sixth tribute up? You can get them before they've drunken themselves into incoherence," Vikus replies.

"He's right," Rumor says. "They don't really care past District Six or Seven."

"Well, whether they care or not, I'm showing them my skill with the sword," Darius says.

"I'll probably do some climbing," Nolan adds.

"You've always been a little monkey," Nova says with a smile. I notice they're hands coming together under the table. I glance a Griffin, who's sitting across from me.

"What are you going to do, Griff?" I ask.

"Take a long piece of rope, tie a loop on one end, and catch a dummy from the other side of the room."

"Hey, you stole mine!" Rumor says, playfully pushing his arm. A pang of jealousy cuts through my chest.

"What about you, Orchid?" Adrian asks.

"Oh, I don't know. Start a fire, maybe. Throw some knives. I really like those smaller spears. The ones about this long," I say, holding my hands apart to show the length.

"Yeah, you're good with those," Griffin says through a mouthful of chicken. And... was it my imagination? Or did he just stretch out his leg and rest his foot on mine? I lean back in my chair, looking down.

Yes. His show is on mine. My heart does a flutter and I look him in the eye. No one breaks the stare. It lasts so long that Vikus has to snap at us. I realize he's asked me a question.

"What?" I ask. Griffin pulls his foot away.

"What is that?" Vikus gestures toward my plate.

"Oh. Raspberry pudding. It's really good."

On our way back to our floors, Griffin catches my hand.

"Hey, um," he starts, but I kiss his cheek. His face flushes and he looks down.

"See you tomorrow," I say, and walk toward the elevators.


	8. Fate's Engineers

_Fun Fact: The inspiration for most of these chapter titles came from the Hunger Games soundtrack. Check it out. :)  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Yacht Broeling." The mechanical voice called over the intercom. From across the cafeteria, I watch my district partner rise and make his way toward the training room.<p>

Fifteen minutes later, I am called. I'm not nervous, though. Strange.

I walk in, prepared to get a knife and begin throwing it at various targets. But instead I find myself carrying one of the knives away, to the knot-tying station.

My body moves without permission. The Gamemakers, fate's engineers, are interested about what I'm going to do.

Now my hands are tying rope around the silver blade. When the knot is secure, I go over to a rock-climbing wall, hold the knife in my teeth, and begin to climb.

At the top, I look around to find my target.

In the center of the floor is the seal of Panem. An eagle with spread wings. Now I know what I'm going to do.

When I was seven, my mother enrolled me in gymnastics. I learned to flip, tumble, and fly. I never knew what good it would do me until this moment.

Tying the loose end of the rope around my waist, I never take my eyes of of Titan Chase, Head Gamemaker. He doesn't look away either. In fact, he doesn't even blink.

Now I look back at the eagle. I zone in on its one visible eye. My arm shoots back. I aim the knife carefully. A second passes before my arm thrusts forward.

The knife whizzes past me, going at a slant. For a moment I wait, perched like a bird. Then the rope tightens.

My plan was to pull myself down with the force of the knife. But I'm not strong enough. So instead I leap, plummeting down, preparing myself for impact. I appear to land gracefully, but my right ankle screams in pain. I force it out of mind. I straighten, smile, bow, and pull the knife out of the eagle's eye, where it's buried deep.

The Gamemakers clap and Titan dismisses me.

"Thank you," I say before leaving. When the doors close behind me I let out a cry and fall to the ground. Thorne passes by me and nudges my ribs with his shoe. I look up, meaning to tell him that I'm fine, but he's already walking into the room.

Getting back to my floor is one of the hardest things I've ever done. My ankle is worse, not better, and every step brings on severe flashes pain.

"Are you alright?" Galaxy asks when she sees me. I shake my head and collapse onto the couch in the common area.

"What happened?" Shrill says. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is this awful groan.

"Get an assistant up here with a first aid kit. Now!" Galaxy orders Shrill, who stomps away. She obviously isn't used to being told what to do.

Galaxy takes off my shoe and sock to assess the damage.

"I'm not doctor, but I don't think there's a break. Badly sprained, I guess." Yes, because that's just what I need three days before I go into the arena.

A doctor and assistant arrive. My ankle is proclaimed broken.

"Please, don't worry, Ms. Caraway. We'll get you into surgery tomorrow morning. You'll need to stay off of it from now until the day after tomorrow, but we'll have you fixed for your interview. No one will have to know," the doctor says.

"But- but, she has to prepare for her interview tomorrow! Etiquette, angle, walking in heels... She won't be ready!" Shrill cries.

"You can work on her angle and etiquette while she's sitting. About the heels, well, I'm sorry. She'll have to be a quick learner."

Shrill is in utter distress, but I'm relieved. They can fix me. Everything will be okay. My foot structure might even be in better shape than it was before the injury.

"It's time for the scores," Galaxy says. The doctor left a wheelchair behind, so I climb in and roll myself down to the viewing area.

"Hello, and welcome the the 225th annual Hunger Games tribute scoring!" the announcer begins.

Yacht scores an 8. He jumps up, gives high-fives and does a little dance. But all that fades when I get a 10.

"How'd you score higher than me?" Yacht demands.

"I- I don't know." I really didn't think my stunt was that impressive.

"Maybe they heard of your broken ankle and were impressed at how well you composed yourself under such circumstances," Galaxy offers.

Baer and Thorne both score 9s. Adrian gets a 5 and Nova scores a 7. Nolan is given a 3 - I thought he'd do better. Griffin and Rumor score 8s. Yacht is fuming now.

"How does the little girl from Ten do as well as me?" he asks. I guess her lasso worked.

Darius gets a 6 and Vikus gets a 4. So we didn't do too bad. I wonder how the Careers will interpret my score. I wonder how the audience will take it. Do my allies resent me for doing better than them?

No, they're not like that. Are they?

I shrug it off and wheel myself to my room. The number 10 is prominent in my dreams.


	9. I'm Broken, Fix Me

_I would very much appreciate some more votes on my poll. You can find it on my profile._

* * *

><p>9:30<p>

I'm taken to an operating room somewhere below the training center.

10:00

A woman begins to list off the things I should expect from this drug they're putting me to sleep with, such as, "headache, nausea, confusion, lightheadedness, and hallucinations. But headaches are usually rare."

10:15

I try not to tense up as the woman sticks a large needle into my arm.

12:05

I wake momentarily to see the room full of doctors. Someone is moving the bones in my foot.

1:00

Galaxy is there, telling me to wake up. "You did very well," she says. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," I reply. "Well, my stomach hurts a little."

"You're probably hungry," she says indifferently. I stand and move my foot to walk. The world spins and I crash to the ground.

"Orchid! Are you okay?"

"Yes, just a little lightheaded."

"They said you wouldn't be able to walk. Get in this wheelchair. There you go. Lunch is waiting for you in your room. I'll work with you on your interview angle while you eat."

Lunch is a roast beef sandwich with tomato soup and hot chocolate. Galaxy sits in the corner and waits for me. When the sandwich's gone and I've started on my soup, I turn to her.

"Okay, what do you think your angle should be?" she asks.

"I haven't really given it much thought. Maybe meek, shy. I think I can play that role best."

"You got a ten in training. They won't buy it."

"So, should I be intimidating?" Galaxy raises her eyebrows as tomato soup runs down my chin. "I'll take that as a no. And I _won't _be sexy."

"Hm... sexy, eh?" I feel her eyes running up and down my body.

"_No._" She smiles, amused at my tone.

"What about funny? Easy-going?"

"I think I could pull that off."

"Great. Let's run through some practice questions..."

"Ladies! Times up! I need to work with orchid on her form," Shrill pipes through the door. Galaxy rolls her eyes and opens the door.

We work for about an hour on poise, etiquette, and speaking louder. Apparently my voice is too soft, and I need to enunciate more.

"You sound more confident that way," Shrill says with a nod.

She's still upset about my ordered bed rest, but we compromise. I'll work with her a little before the interview tomorrow. I don't see how that will work out, since I'll be in the hands of my prep team until the last minute. I don't say anything.

It's only 5:00, but I'm so exhausted from the operation and Shrill, I fall asleep when she leaves.


	10. Last Midnight

_My fictionpress story, Of Secrets and Sorrow, would love to see some reviews..._

* * *

><p>"My ankle!" I cry, collapsing on the floor. It's a mischevious plot, and probably dangerous. But it just might work.<p>

"Do you need ice?" Glamor asks, trying to help me up but doing a crappy job on account of him not wanting to "mess up my new nails. They are fierce!"

"No, no, I think I could walk... if only I could get another dose of morphine to help with the pain." He looks at my prep team, who hurries off to fetch me some of that lovely, _sedating_ medication.

I'm not addicted; I just know that in a morphine-induced state, it will be much easier to deal with the preparations for tonight. It'll wear off by four or five o'clock, and then I'll be ready for my interview.

"Here, Honey. Take it," Glamor says, giving me a syringe. I inject myself and sigh theatrically as I pretend to be relieved of pain. "Better?" he asks.

"Better," I nod. He leaves and my team begins to work on me. I hardly notice, though, and time flies.

It's not so fine a line between the hazed world I've been in all day and the sharp, clear universe I step into when Glamor is ready to dress me. My head pounds and I feel like vomitting. I stumble, holding on to my stylist for support. The lights are too bright now, and everyone's talking too loud. Maybe this is what a hangover feels like. I won't be taking morphine without really _needing _it anymore.

"Close your eyes, darling," he instructs me. I do. "Arms up." I raise them and feel the silky material slip over my body. "Open."

It's not me. Again, I've been disguised. I'm in a royal blue dress. It's covered in shimmering sparkles. My arms, chest, and face are covered in glitter as well. My shoes are silver sandals to match, inlaid with crystals. My toe and fingernails are blue like my dress.

As for my makeup, it's almost non-existant. Aside from my eyes, which are outlined in black eyeliner to make my eyes pop, I have nothing on. My hair is placed near the top of my head in a messy bun, with wringlets falling out in the back.

I look like a... princess. The thought is repugnet, but delightful at the same time. Hm.

"Time for the interview, Orchid," Galaxy says and takes me to the elevator. "You look amazing, by the way." She says it like it's no big deal, but there's awe in her voice. I try to hide my smile.

When Yacht sees me, he seems to have a mini cardiac arrest. This makes me flash my teeth. I've always been told I have a beautiful smile. Now I can use it to my advantage.

I feel so over-dressed next to Yacht, who's in a light yellow button-up shirt with a white blazer and pants. He keeps sneaking looks at me. I make sure I never glance at him.

The real fun begins when we see the other tributes, or more importantly, when they see me. Looks of jealousy, awe, and confusion follow me. I make eye contact with Griffin, who mouths the word "Wow." I nod at him and mouth "You too." He shakes his head. I roll my eyes and go over to him.

"You clean up nicely," I say playfully.

"Not like you. You're gorgeous." I hope the glitter hides my blush.

"Hey, Orchid! Wow, you look so pretty!" Rumor says. I take in the strapless red dress she's been dressed in and my eyes widen.

"Thanks, but you look amazing!"

"Thanks," she says with a smile. Griffin takes my hand and gives it a squeeze as someone tells us it's time to line up.

I go first, which is good and bad. Good, because I'll get it out of the way. Bad, because I don't have anything to fall onto. If I need tips on how to act, what wins the crowd over, I have no role model. If I mess up, nobody's coming before me to mess up worse and make it okay. I'm just thinking how this is more bad than good when the interviewer calls my name.

Jupiter Sykes is the youngest interviewer at 20. He starts this year but doesn't seem nervous at all. I wish I had his confidence.

"So, Orchid, wow! You look incredible this evening!"

"Thank you, Jupiter. I love that red on you," I say, gesturing to his suit. I see Galaxy in the crowd, and I know she wants me to kick into my angle now. What was my angle again? Funny? Sexy? Confident?

I'm freaking out. This isn't happening. I can't fly by the seat of my pants now. I need a plan. A well-executed, thought-out plan that garuntees sponsors.

I have nothing.

"People say it has to do with my name," he says.

"That would make sense." He senses my panic and tries to ease the conversation into something easy.

"So, you're fourteen, right?"

"Yes."

"You look very mature for your age. I would've thought sixteen if I didn't know better." Murmurs from the crowd agree. Now I know I'm blushing red enough to be seen.

"Th-thank you," I stutter and curse myself for wavering. I need to get back on track.

"I've been told I look old for my age too. Some people say 30!" He mocks mortification, getting a few laughs, even from me.

"No, you don't look a day over eighteen," I say.

"That's very kind of you. Speaking of kindness..." he pauses, and my mind begins to reel. What's next? Is he going to want to talk about my large alliance? Does he know about Griffin?

"District One often has volunteers, and this was one of the rare years it had none. Do you have an idea why nobody offered to take your place?"

Hold it. I can't tell him the truth. I need the support from my district and even though I didn't have it in the beginning, my good score and striking beauty _must _have gained me some loyalty. I can't risk ruining it now.

"I think everyone at home is confident that I can win. They know that I have what it takes; they believe in me. And why ruin a perfectly good chance of getting yet another victor for District One's track record?" It came out a lot smoother than I had expected. I hope it's believable.

"Indeed. I sure do hope their support isn't in vain. Well, time's up for us tonight. Ladies and Gentlemen, Orchid Caraway!" The crowd cheers, and I return to my seat in confusion. That was quicker than I thought it would be.

It's the same for everyone else. I really don't catch any of the others' interviews because my head is swirling and they're all going by too fast.

Too fast. Time flies when you're dreading something. Tomorrow is coming sooner than it should. It's already 8:00, time to go back to my room. Dinner is done and now it's 9:00. I'm out of my dress, hair, and makeup and it's 9:45; time for bed.

I lay in bed until 11:59. Then I sit up. Midnight. Sixty seconds of pure agony. This may be my last midnight ever.

60...59...58...

In ten hours, the gong will sound.

50... 49... 48...

Eleven other bloodthirsty tributes will be fighting, killing, dying.

38... 37... 36...

What do I do? I try to find any of my allies, first.

22... 21... 20...

I locate them, join them, and then?

12... 11... 10...

Get weapons. Food. Water. And run.

3... 2... 1...

12:01. The day has begun.


	11. Without a Scratch

_Happy Hunger Games._

* * *

><p>"Hold still." How sadistic do you have to be to tell a girl frozen by a current to hold still as you painfully insert a tracking device into her forearm?<p>

When my muscles can function again, tears fill my eyes. The throbbing in my arm might not be too bad for most tributes to bear, but I've never had a high tolerance for pain.

The hovercraft takes off. I can't look out the windows; I get motion sick easily. So I sit in the center, on the floor, forcing everyone to walk around me. I manage to annoy many attendants by doing so, which pleases me. They can't stand to move a _couple feet_ out of the way.

I should eat, but I can't. It would just come back up. I can't drink anything either. This, I know, is the worst part. Dehydration could mean my death. I should start as far from it as possible.

In order to make drinking easier for me, I breath through my mouth. Within minutes my tongue and throat are dry and I drink two eight-ounce glasses of water in an hour. Then I order a third to sip on.

Now the windows black out. We're getting close to the arena. Finally.

The knot in my stomach expands to my chest. I clench my fists, unclench, pop my knuckles, and clench again. Who will I be put in the arena with? Any of my allies? There's a good chance. Eight of us are teamed up together. And five others are Careers. That leaves eleven tributes, who may have formed alliances as well.

The number of competitors is overwhelming. Twenty-three to beat, twenty-three to die. I could never kill one of them. Not even Yacht. The worst I can do is hope someone else takes them out for me.

The hovercraft lands. As I head out the door, I notice the time is 9:40. Twenty minutes until the Games begin.

Glamor helps me dress in the catacombs. The outfit's a blue hoodie over a black tank-top, tan shorts that go to my knees, and black sneakers. The pattern on the bottom suggests they're for rocky terrain.

Once I'm dressed, he straightens my hair and puts it up in a high ponytail. It's now 9:58. A voice tells me it's time to prepare for launch. I step on the metal plate, heart pounding so hard it hurts.

"Good luck Darling," Glamor says as the glass slides into place around me. I feel the plate rising, bringing me up into the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 225th annual Hunger Games begin!" says Lisbeth Burkhart, the announcer for the Games.

The first thing I notice is the air. Hot and humid, with a salty scent. When my eyes adjust to the light, I see that we're in a clearing in a jungle, tropical and heavy with wildlife. The sunlight is having trouble getting through the leaves, and everything in the area has a dim, green tint to it.

The Cornucopia sits in the middle of the clearing, with twelve of us positioned around it. To my left is Nolan. I'm relieved to see one of my allies. To my right is the girl from Nine; I never learned her name.

The only other tributes I can see are Thorne and the girl from Six.

My minute's running out. I scan the area for anything in this arena that suggests it's something other than jungle... but all I see is trees. Good cover, I guess. If you can make it out of the clearing alive.

Wait a second. Maybe I don't have to.

The plan is still forming in my head when the gong sounds.

Adrenaline pushes me forward as my thoughts argue with one another. _The Gamemakers will know. _Maybe they'll think it's clever and leave me alone. _I_ _could be seriously hurt. _I'll be careful. _What if someone sees-_

It doesn't matter. Some of the quicker tributes have reached the mouth of the Cornucopia. The blood soon begins to flow. I surprise even myself when I run into the middle of a fight between two other tributes.

I fall to the ground with a high-pitched cry. Hopefully the commotion around me has concealed the fact that I haven't been injured at all. I suck in a deep breath and hold it for as long as I can, then let it out slowly enough so it's not obvious that I'm breathing.

Laying on my stomach, head to the side, I keep my eyes open but distant, taking on a dead expression. I catch glimpses of the bloodbath around me.

There's Baer. She has a sword. She goes after the boy from Six. A second later his body falls. His head lands a foot away and rolls a bit before stopping. I clench my teeth to keep myself from vomitting.

The boy from Four fights the boy from Seven. Both of them inflict a lot of injuries on one another until the Four boy catches his opponent in a headlock and slits his throat.

The girl from Nine scampers off into the woods with an armful of supplies, unnoticed.

I can't see anything now. Most of the remaining tributes have spread out. It must be over.

Wait... no, it isn't. I hear a little girl pleading and then a scream. A moment later Baer, Thorne, and the boy from Four are at the Cornucopia, choosing their weapon and food supply.

They decide to find another place to set up camp (this place is too open; they all feel too vulnerable) and disappear into the woods. Then the cannons fire. I count one... two... three... four of them. Four out of twelve.

The bodies are collected and I sit up cautiously. I did it. I made it through the bloodbath without a scratch. I smile at the trees, at the Capitol. I can almost hear their gasps, see the shock on their faces. If I don't make it out of here alive, I've at least managed to get some satisfaction.

I silently walk to the Cornucopia, where the three Careers have left a substantial amount of supplies. I pick over them and come up with an empty yellow backpack which I fill with a pack of nuts and dried fruit, twelve crackers, three water bottles (one is full, two are empty), a 9-inch knife, and a blanket. Slinging it over my shoulder, I pick up a dart gun and a small pocket knife. A rustle in the woods nearby sends me into the concealment of the trees before I have the chance to get more food.

I don't travel far - perhaps a mile - before I stop and drink a bit of water. I've been walking, since I haven't encountered anything suggesting a nearby tribute, and I went in the opposite direction of the Careers.

"Hello, tributes!" Lisbeth Burkhart's voice startles me. "There were four deaths in the bloodbath in Arena One..." That must be where I am. "And five deaths in the bloodbath in Arena Two! Good luck to the remaining fifteen tributes of the ninth Quarter Quell!"

Okay, so nine of us dead already. Not a very big turnout. The Capitol audience must be disappointed, especially with expectations so high for this year.

I stare at my hands, trying to unjumble my thoughts. What do I do now?

My next priority is to find my allies. I don't know how many are in this arena, and if any of them died this morning. Whoever's left must be looking for me too. I get up and begin to move when a voice stops me.

"Orchid! Over here," he says. A smile creeps onto my lips.

It's Griffin.


	12. Unjust Game

_Please, leave a review. I'm always looking to improve._

* * *

><p>"<em>Ow!<em>" Griffin moans as I clean the gash on his side.

"Sh! Someone might hear you," I say in a harsh whisper.

I cringe at the blood coming from his body. "What happened to you, anyway?"

"The girl from Six got me with her dagger."

"Lucky for us she had bad aim." I smile and look into his eyes. He does his best to return the gesture, but I can tell he's in too much pain.

I've used half of my water on him already and the bloodflow hasn't slowed. I need to wrap it somehow. I could use my hoodie or my blanket, but I might need one of them if it gets cold tonight. I decide to use the hoodie, since the blanket's thicker and will keep me warmer when the time comes.

"Here," I say, wrapping it around him and using the arms to tie it. "Now put your shirt back on. We need to start moving."

"Yes, m'am," he says, gathering his things and standing up. He's unstable; I can tell my his slow, jerky movements.

"I'm sorry, Griff. I didn't mean to sound that way. It's just..." He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

"It's okay. You're right. We have to go. Did you see anyone from our group?"

"Yeah, I saw Nolan. How about you?"

"I didn't see anyone, but if Nolan's in this arena, we better find him."

* * *

><p>We walk for hours, hand in hand, with no luck in finding our ally.<p>

Sometime in the late afternoon, I see a break in the thick jungle trees. When we reach the edge of the forest, the soft earth gives way to sand. A few yards ahead is the crashing waves of an ocean. And beyond that... nothing. The water stretches out as far as I can see.

It's warmer out here. Out of the shade of the trees, with the setting sun and the hot sand, Griffin takes off his hoodie and a small sweat breaks out on my forehead.

"Wow, what a change in temperature," he says.

"I know." I look around at this open part of the arena and understand the Careers' choice to take to the trees. "I feel too... exposed out here. Let's go back into the jungle and set up camp for the night."

"Alright." We walk through the dense, cool greenery for a while before we come upon a grove of trees that all grow into one another, forming a type of shelter.

Griffin _just_ fits through the largest gap in between the trunks of the trees. Once we're settled inside, I notice for the first time the brown pack on his back.

"What do you have in there?" I ask. I already showed him my loot.

"I don't know. I haven't checked yet," he says, unzipping the pack. Inside we find a rope, a pack of matches, a bottle of fever pills, and a bag of dried beef strips.

"I'm starving," I say. As if in response, my stomach growls and cramps. We each eat one beef strip, a cracker, and a handful of nuts and fruit. We also finish off the single bottle of water. It's not filling. In fact, it has to be the smallest meal I've ever had. But I'll have to make it work.

"Tomorrow, we find Nolan," Griffin says.

"And water." So far, the only drop I've seen is ocean water. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure it's not safe to drink saltwater.

I'm startled by the anthem playing. We peek our heads out to see the sky. I can barely make out the faces through the leaves, but I do see the words _Arena One _followed by the faces of Baer from Two, the boy from Six, the boy from Seven, and Cora from Twelve. I guess she could've used an ally after all.

After that, the sky reads _Arena Two _and shows the girls from Four and Five, the boy from Eight, Darius, and Vikus. That means that one more tribute needs to die in that arena and two more in this arena before we move on to round two.

Two. Two of my allies are dead. The reality of this hell is sinking in. I turn to Griffin and can't stop the tears that fill my eyes. He opens his arms and I don't hesitate to go into them.

I'm weak. I shouldn't cry. I knew they had to die for me to win. But I didn't realize how close I'd gotten to them. How much it hurts to have someone you know and care about slaughtered.

We sit there for a while, in each other's arms. I silently sob into his shirt and he strokes my hair, murmuring comforting words. It helps.

I fall asleep in his embrace.


	13. Just in Case

_My poll would love to see more votes._

* * *

><p>"Orchid. Orchid, I'm exhausted. Can you keep watch now?"<p>

"Hm?" I sit up, wondering where I am. In the dark, it's hard to tell, but it slowly comes back to me. The grove... finding Griffin... the bloodbath...

It's too much. I'm only fourteen. I grew up in District One. It's not the Capitol, but I never really encountered death and pain and misery. Not like this.

"Are you okay?" Griffin asks sleepily. He's trying to be there for me, but he's too tired to keep his eyes open.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go to sleep." I run my hand through his hair and he lays down. Once his breathing is even, I let the tears spill onto my cheeks. I didn't know how hard it would be to deal with it. I've seen other kids, they kill in cold blood and never think twice. Others go completely insane and kill themselves. I guess I'm leaning toward the latter. I hope it doesn't happen to me.

It won't. I'll hang on, no matter what I see. I can't slip into madness, abandoning all hope of my return. No, I'll make sure it doesn't happen.

I sit in the shelter of the grove, listening to Griffin sleep, crying on and off, and wishing I could find Nolan. It's killing me to not know where he is or what happened to him. He's not dead; there hasn't been a cannon. I just hope he's not bleeding to death.

"We're all bleeding to death. On the inside."

I whip my head around. "Who's there?" I ask. I know I heard someone. "Hello?" I whisper. There's no reply. I scoot closer to Griffin, pull my knees to my chest, and hope for whoever it is to go away.

* * *

><p>The sun finally rises, illuminating the arena. I smile, relieved. I made it through the first night.<p>

I wait for the sun to get a little higher before waking Griffin.

"What time is it?" he asks, but I'm no expert in using the sun to tell what time it is.

"I don't know..." I peer into the sky. "Maybe eight?"

"Close. It's 7:45."

"What?" I turn around as Griffin puts something in his pocket. "How do you know?" He pulls the thing back out of his pocket. It's a watch.

"My dad's. Well, he gave it to me for my birthday, about a month before the reaping. I always keep it on me."

"Good thing, too. I hate not knowing what time it is."

"Here, you take it," he says, opening my hand and putting the watch in.

"No, it's yours. I really couldn't take it..."

"I'll make myself a sundial. We had those out on the ranch, before I got the watch. All my friends and I would make them so we knew when to round the cattle up. It's easy. Besides," he pauses, looking at me intensely. "You can use it, just in case we're ever... sperated."

"Oh. Okay." I open it and watch the ancient hands click around. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock...

"It's a _beautiful_ clock."

"What did you say?" I ask, looking at Griffin.

"I didn't say anything," he replies, confused.

"Didn't you hear that?" I look out of the grove, clutching my knife.

"Hear what?" He places his hand on my back, which makes me jump. "Is there someone there?"

"I don't know," I say. I can't help but feel like another tribute is messing with me. Why won't they show themselves?

"Come on," Griffin says. "We shouldn't stay in one place. We have to find Nolan."

"But the grove's a perfect place to stay in," I argue. I don't want to go anywhere and risk encountering this mystery tribute.

"Maybe we'll find another one." So we pack up our things and go out into the jungle.

For breakfast, we finish the nuts and dried fruit and have one cracker each. That leaves only eight crackers and six beef strips. And no water. Food disappears too quickly in the arena.

We're traveling in the opposite direction we were yesterday in hope that we'll find fresh water. Soon we come to another beach. But this one looks different; it curves in... like a bowl. And it doesn't smell salty here.

I cup my hands and fill them with water.

"Orchid, you can't drink that!" Griffin warns, but one sip couldn't hurt, right? It's not saltwater, just like I'd hoped. I drink my fill, then motion Griffin over before I start filling the three water bottles.

"It could still be contaminated," he says, refusing to drink.

"How would we clean it, then?" I challenge. "We don't have iodine." I've seen lots of tributes use it to clean their water. "And besides, I'd rather die from this than from dehydration, or another tribute." This changes his mind. He drinks as much as he can and sits back.

"Ah." I smile.

"See, it's not so bad," I say. I pull out the watch; it's almost 10:00 a.m.

"Let's go look for Nolan," Griffin says. "We have three full water bottles to last us the day, and we can always come back here. And, like you said last night, I feel too exposed-"

He's cut off by the sound of the cannon.


	14. Fearlessly Meek

_So updates will be much more frequent now that it's summer. They will slow down in September._

* * *

><p>"Griffin?" I ask, though I know he heard it too.<p>

"Yeah, I heard it."

"Do you think-"

"No!" he snaps. I shrink back a little. "I don't want to think about it."

We don't talk. We just keep going, looking for Nolan despite the fact that I think he's already dead.

We wander for hours. It's almost 5:00, and the sun has begun to set. There's no sign of any other tributes. Griffin and I sit on a fallen log to rest. We drink a bottle of water together and force ourselves to eat two crackers each.

Night comes, and so does another cannon. My stomach lurches with the thought of two more deaths. The only thing that could comfort me is if they were both Careers.

The anthem plays, as expected. My stomach tightens. It's time to find out if my ally died today.

He didn't. The first face to appear is the girl from Six, followed by the girl from Nine. That makes Griffin, Nolan, and me part of the final six in Arena One. We're moving on to round two.

I'm so excited and perplexed by how this will work, I hardly notice when the sky shows who died in the other arena.

Adrian.

I'll admit, I wasn't that close to my ally from District Three. But we ate together, trained together, laughed together. I considered him my friend, in a way. I wonder if he did the same.

Unlike the usual blank sky that should follow the ending anthem, trumpets blow loud and long.

"Hello, final twelve tributes of the 225th annual Hunger Games! Six of you remain in each arena. You will now be transported to a new launching center, mixed randomly, and placed in two identical arenas with a different landscape, just as you were the past two days. Congratulations, and good luck in Round Two!" Lisbeth Burkhart says in a cheery, perky voice that doesn't belong in the arena, where such sick things happen.

Two hovercraft appear, each with its own ladder. I hug Griffin goodbye, give him a full waterbottle, put my backpack on, and climb onto the first rung.

* * *

><p>"Do I get a new outfit?"<p>

"No," the Capitol attendant says in her dry, nasaly voice.

"Can I keep my food and supplies?"

"Yes."

"Will there be another bloodbath?" She pauses before answering.

"I am not at liberty to say."

"So you don't know," I say smugly. This makes her glare, which just widens my smile.

"Do not condescend me, _tribute._" She walks away, finally. I lean back in my chair just as the hovercraft begins to land.

The room I'm supposed to be launched in is the same as the other arena. Glamor is not here, though; no one is. I wait in a plastic chair until I'm informed that it's time to go.

I step on the metal plate, like last time. It feels so familiar. I've only done it twice.

The glass surrounds me. I begin to rise. When I'm fully in the arena, I find the answer to my question.

Surrounded by bare trees, rocks, dirt, and bugs, I see nothing around but wilderness. I think I hear a stream, somewhere in the distance. The air is thick with the heavy, wet smell of dead leaves. The steep ground is covered in orange, yellow, brown, and red, crunchy leaves. Moving undetected will be virtually impossible. Easy to find the other tributes. Easy to be found.

I must be on a mountain, set in autumn. Somewhere on this mountain are five other deadly tributes. I need to be extra careful this time. There is no jungle floor to mask my footsteps, no strong ally to watch my back.

There will not be another bloodbath. I am on my own.


	15. Fifteen

_What did you like about this chapter? What could I improve on? Who do you want to win these Games?_

* * *

><p>I wander around, going around the mountain, rather than up or down it.<p>

There's a sound - a tribute clearing his throat. I pull out my knife and turn, not sure what to expect. An enemy? An ally?

I see him through the trees, walking casually, not bothering to go unnoticed. He's the District Four male, big and strong and feared by most other tributes, but I've heard the way Yacht complains about him at dinner. He's nothing but a whiny, spoiled Career who has no interest in working for the crown. He expects it to magically appear on his head.

I could kill him now, show the audience that I am a contendor in these Games and get rid of one more enemy. But killing is wrong. I'd never live with myself if I did. So I take out my dart gun and shoot his calf, hoping that the injury will let another tribute finish the job.

He turns and seems to look straight at me; I've ducked behind a bush. But he ends up cursing and limping off, leaving my dart in his leg.

I sigh in relief and begin walking in the opposite direction.

A few more hours pass, and soon it's late afternoon. I've finished three-quarters of my water, and need to refill soon. My feet ache and I really need to shower. Something's bugging me, in the back of my mind, but I don't know what it is.

Night is coming, and so are the mosquitoes. I've seen them in Games before; some are poisonous, others annoying. We don't have many of them in District One; it's mostly jewel mines and buildings. But now I'm being bitten everywhere. I start swatting at them, killing a few, but there are too many.

"Argh!" I moan in frustration. I'm hoping I've gained a few sponsors, having made it to round two, and maybe I'll get something to kill them or make them leave. Nothing comes.

Well, that's not true.

"Rumor!"

* * *

><p>My ally has done well. She has a blanket, an apple, and half of some animal she caught in round one. We each have a little of it, which she's already cooked, and finish off my crackers.<p>

The meat is juicy, but hard to chew. Still, it's food.

A cannon fires. About an hour later, the sun sets and the anthem begins to play. In Arena One, Nova is dead. I wonder if she was the cannon I heard. Soon comes the next arena.

The cannon we heard was for the male from District Four. I guess someone found him. And that means I'm in Arena Two.

Rumor tells me about a stream she saw about a mile from where we're camped.

"It's not completely clean, but it's fresh enough."

"Are there fish in it?" I ask.

"Yeah, but they're too small to eat."

She offers to take the first watch tonight. I find myself smiling, relieved that we're together. I can't imagine sleeping here alone.

"Yeah, like you'd sleep."

"What?" I ask, sitting up.

"I was talking to myself. You know, about... home."

"I thought you said something about sleep." Rumor looks at me strange.

"No. I didn't say anything about that."

"I could've sworn..." I mumble. Weird. Oh, well.

I drift off to sleep, still trying to figure out what was bothering me earlier.

* * *

><p>The thump wakes me up. I open my eyes with a start, and immediately look for my knife. Rumor is asleep on the ground, next to me.<p>

It's not long before I see what woke me. In the morning light I see the silver parachute and rip it open.

Rumor sits up, rubbing her eyes. When she sees the gift she smiles and scoots closer to me. Inside is a tube of some ointment, iodine, a loaf of warm Capitol bread, and a steaming platter of boneless chicken breaded and covered in a sweet, spicy sauce. I had this meal in the Capitol.

There's a note, too.

"Wow," Rumor says. "This must have cost a fortune to send us! What does it say?"

I pause before whispering, "Happy Birthday."

* * *

><p>Rumor's fifteenth birthday. And she has to spend it in the arena.<p>

"I didn't forget. I just... I didn't think about it. Not exactly worth celebrating, is it?"

"It is if you make it out of here," I say, smiling faintly.

We finish the animal, have a slice of bread and feast on a couple chicken pieces each. It's delicious, and filling.

It's not long after I finish eating before all the bug bites we acquired last night begin to itch. Rumor pulls out the ointment we received.

"Maybe it's for the itch," she says, and places a bit on one of the bumps. Immediately her face relaxes, and she lets out a soft "Ah..."

We use half the tube on ourselves, then pack up our belongings and set out to find the stream Rumor mentioned.

After a couple minutes of walking, I hear the unnatural snap of a twig. Rumor and I turn around to see the girl from District Eleven, bloody and holding a sword.

I don't like the look in her eyes.


	16. Haunting Me

_This one's shorter, yes, but I think you'll find it to be one of the better chapters. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>The girl from Eleven shifts her weight. Her sword raised, she takes a step forward. My knife is pointed at her before either of us knows can blink.<p>

"Rumor," I say slowly and quietly, moving my lips as little as possible so the girl can't see or overhear my words. "There's a pocket knife in the small pocket of my backpack, and a dart gun in the big pouch. Get one."

I feel her open the bigger pocket and pull out the gun. This has our vicious opponent stunned, frozen in place.

"Poisoned?" she asks, swallowing hard.

"Might be. Would you like to find out?" Rumor says with authority. I'm surprised at how well she's handling herself.

We now have the upper hand. If she flees, we'll have a harder shot, but we'll still hold the advantage.

Rumor prepares to fire. I'm not sure I want to see her die, but I know if she doesn't then we will. But since one person has died in this arena already, and the Quarter Quell calls for four tributes to move on to the next round, only one of us can die.

The scream comes before she can pull the trigger, aimed for the Eleven girl's heart. I tense as the scream comes again, this time louder. There are crashes in the nearby trees. I start moving backwards, preparing to run from whatever muttation horror they've released onto us.

But it never comes. The cannon sounds before anything shows up. Moments later, an out-of-breath Thorne finds the three of us.

"Hello, final four tributes in Arena Two! You will now be transported to a new launching center, where you will wait for Arena One to be ready to move on as well. Congratulations, and good luck in Round Three!"

"Again?" Thorne asks. I try to imagine his disappointment at not being able to slaughter us all, right there. It must be terrible. For him.

Rumor and I split the chicken and bread, and I give her an empty water bottle. Now I'm down to one. One bone-dry container that doesn't help me in any way.

Once in the hovercraft, I'm lead to a seat away from the blacked-out windows. A few minutes later, we arrive at the third arena.

I'm left alone again, in the launch room. My - Griffin's - watch says it's a little past noon.

Griffin. The stress of the new arena had me completely distracted. He's still alive. He has to be. The only person to die in their arena was Nova. Unless he's the last to die in this round.

No. I can't even think about it. The thought haunts me. All of it haunts me. It's terrible, and I made it worse by becoming friends with a third of my enemies.

"Don't worry. You won't survive much longer, anyway."

There it is again! That voice... it knows my inner-most thoughts. It's not my ally, or another tribute. It's... me. That's what people mean when they say 'the voice in your head.' Could it be my conscience speaking? Doesn't seem right. It hasn't been talking about what's right and wrong, just talking.

And now it's talking about death. I can't listen. I need to try to go home.

_To what? To a cheating mother and passive father. There is no Griffin at home. You have nothing to live for._

My father loves me. And I can live without Griffin. Losing him is no reason to die.

_Even if you did have the will to survive after his death, would it be possible?_

I've made it this far, haven't I?

_You haven't been in a battle yet. How long would you last against Yacht, or Thorne, or that beastly girl from Eleven?_

I have a dart gun.

_No you don't. Not anymore. Rumor took it with her._

That's right. She put it in her sweatshirt pocket. All I have is a couple of knives and hardly any upper body strength. I can kick pretty hard, but what good would that do me against a bigger, ruthless tribute? None. I would definitely die.

_Yes, you would. So why try? Why give an effort to only die horribly in the end? Why not simply give up? Or, better yet, end it yourself-_

"No!" I shout, standing abruptly. I can't let it take over. I have to maintain control. Already it's talking me into suicide. I can't let it happen. I _won't _let it happen.

* * *

><p>I spend the next few hours in silence. I'm hungry and tired, but I need to be ready to be launched into the next arena.<p>

"The final death in Arena One has taken place. And the final death tally for Round Two is..." Lisbeth Burkhart says over an intercom. I'm not completely listening, since I'm still trying to process the fact that I'll be returning to my death sentence now. But I do make out that the last death was Nolan, and a lump forms in my throat. I don't go onto the metal plate. I just sit there, because it's easier to do that than to face reality.

A Peacekeeper comes into the room, grabs my arm, and forces me onto to plate. I close my eyes as it begins to rise, still refusing to accept yet _another _arena.


	17. My Own Best Friend

_I haven't been receiving any reviews for the latest chapters... :( Maybe this story has lost some of its quality or something, or readers feel it's just not worth reviewing. Where have you all gone? Are you still there? And if you are, would you mind letting me know?_

* * *

><p>I'm in another jungle, but this one has a thick, smoky smell in the air. And the greenery is a lot thicker; it's hard to see through the plant life and the ground is covered in roots and vines. It's extremely hard to walk on.<p>

It's hotter here, too. The other jungle was cool and comfortable, but this one is humid and I begin to sweat. I'm covered in dirt from the previous arenas, and it turns into mud as it's mixed with perspiration.

There are only four of us in this arena, so it must be smaller than normal arenas. I think back, trying to remember how many of my allies are left. There's Rumor and Griffin, and... that's it. For once I hope that only one of them is in this arena, because only two tributes will be advancing.

I make my way through the jungle until reaching a flat clearing. The ground is made of black rock. We must be on an island, because there's water on the other side, and from the smell of the air, it's salty.

I find a stream that leads to a small pond. Upon inspection, I find that it has freshwater. But there's not a lot, and this one seems to be dirtier than the one Griffin and I found on the first island. Still, I fill my one remaining bottle and drink all of it in a minute. Between the sweat and not being able to find the stream with Rumor in the last arena, I've become extremely dehydrated.

And I'm _so_ hungry. I will myself to just nibble on the bread until half of it's gone, just to give in and finish it off. I can't be in this arena for much longer, anyway. Two deaths can happen rather quickly.

I jump at the ironic sound of the cannon.

That's it, then. Only one more to go and I'm in the final round. I feel strange, I guess I never meant to make it this far. Or thought I would. But my allies and the advantage of being split into two arenas are probably the only reasons I'm still able to think thoughts.

I've also been unusually lucky. I've either found freshwater in every arena or wasn't in it long enough to go thirsty. I've obviously got sponsors - probably due to my ten in training - so I've been pretty well-fed. I haven't encountered a mutt yet and my only battle was interrupted by the final kill for the round.

_It won't last long. You know that. You're just going to die anyway. _

"I know," I mumble. "It's just strange."

_You know what I think? I think tributes starving or freezing to death is too boring for a Quell._

"That makes sense, I guess."

_And muttations are too powerful. Think about it; how often does a tribute come out of a battle with a mutt alive, or well enough to still have a chance?_

"It doesn't happen. Ever. At least, not in the Games I've seen."

_Exactly. The audience wants blood, but they also want something to root for. If their favorite tribute is being attacked by a wild dog, are they really stupid enough to hope they survive? No. That's why I think-_

"The Gamemakers are making it easy for us to live on our own so we die at the hands of the other tributes," I finish for myself. I whip my head around, worried that I said it too loudly. I'm not worried about the audience; I'm sure they cut away from me when I started talking about the previous Games. They just showed enough for everyone to know that I'm talking to myself.

I'm talking to myself. I've seen it with tributes who end up going mad by the end of it. They either commit suicide or believe nothing can touch them, and they die anyway. Once in a while they'll win, but I can't imagine living the rest of my life with this voice in my head...

"Get out!" I order it, standing. "You can't control me."

_I'm not controlling you; I'm helping you. You need me. You could not live without me._

I open my mouth to reply, but I don't know what to say. A moment ago I was sure I wanted to get rid of it. But now... I don't know.

_I'm the one who can walk you through survival. I'm the one who will tell you the right choices to make. You _need _me._

It's right. I do need it. I could have never come this far without it.

I walk away from the pond and toward the rocky mountain on the other side of this plain of black stone. Wait, it's not a mountain. I've seen that familiar flat-top before. It's a-

_Volcano. And look at the top! Smoke. Little bursts of lava shooting out, flowing over the edge. It's beautiful. Get closer. Don't you want a better look?_

I keep moving toward the volcano, my eyes locked on the lava spilling over the side and flowing into the jungle to my right.

It's hotter over here. The air is thicker, too. There's a crackle, the kind of sound a fire makes. I assume it's from the lava.

Now I'm at the base of the volcano. I hear the pop of a branch and spin on my heels, raising my water bottle above my head to throw at the tribute. But I don't see a tribute.

I see a wall of fire.


	18. Freezing Flames

_Thank you to everyone who responded to my last note, it means a lot to me that you're still following my story even though it's been so long! It is nearing the end, I'm afraid, but I'll do my best to end it well._

* * *

><p>My first instinct is to scream, but the smoke quickly cuts me off. Still, I hear a frantic reply.<p>

"Orchid!?" It's Griffin. His pain is obvious in the way he calls out. I clench my teeth. How could he be so _stupid, _so careless? Now the third tribute, whoever it is, knows where he is and that I am within the range of his voice.

I don't have much time to loathe, though, because the flames have begun to spread towards me. They seem almost lifelike; walking across the smooth, rocky surface as if they had feet.

This is no accidental fire from the spewing lava. This is the work of a Gamemaker.

I bolt away, pushing myself harder than I ever have. It can't end in this fiery heat. It just _can't._ I'm _so close_!

The thick smoke penetrates my lungs, despite my efforts to breath into my shirt. It seems to be having some effect on my muscles. They stiffen, slowly, until finally my legs give way and I collapse.

My arms, also paralyzed, do nothing to break my fall. I hit my chin off the hard rock below and immediately my eyes flood with tears.

I'm only feet from the ocean water, where I would be safe. It's so unfair. Why now? I had only _just _realized that they wanted us to kill one another. This fire ruins the whole theory. Maybe they're punishing me. I wasn't supposed to know their plan and now I'm going to burn for it.

All I can do is lie here, waiting for the impending agony. I really need an ally right now. Someone to save me. Someone like Griffin.

Griffin!

What's wrong with me!? I left him there! He was in pain; maybe the smoke had begun to immobilize him and he was calling for help.

I've really changed, then. It's happened. How evil I must look to the audience, to run instead of save my ally, my crush. I've let it take over me. That despicable little voice...

The tears have blurred my vision, but I can still see the flames get closer. It inches forward, menacingly, until it reaches my limp hand.

I expect unbelievable pain, but instead I'm met with a cool sensation. The fire licks my fingertips, and soon I can move them again.

It consumes me, to cold fire, soothing my muscles and allowing me to regain control over them. I stand slowly, shakily, still consumed by the strange flames.

What is the point of them, exactly? To paralyze me and then set me free? Where they hoping that another tribute would find me while I was trapped by my own body and make the second and final kill of this round? Or was it just to scare me?

But it doesn't matter now. I'm running, tears still falling, toward the place where Griffin called out.

I find him under a fallen tree, which seems to be the only thing burned by this fire. He's struggling to free himself.

"Griffin!" I practically shriek, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?" I decide not to include the fact that I ran from him.

"Yeah. I couldn't move when it fell on me. The smoke did something to my muscles."

"I know, I know. It happened to me too." I stand, brush off my pants, and help him pull the log up. It takes a lot of effort, but we finally lift it enough for him to wriggle out from underneath.

Immediately, I know something's wrong. He doesn't seem to notice it, but his left leg is twisted in an odd way.

"Um, Griffin?" I ask, pointing to what I'm pretty sure is a broken leg.

"What?" he replies, looking down. "Oh, yeah. I heard something snap when the tree fell, but I can't feel it at all."

I don't know what that means, but it looks terrible.

He crawls over to me and pulls me into a sitting position before kissing my cheek. I throw my arms around him, trying not to sob out of guilt for running.

There's the unnatural snap of a twig behind me, and then everything happens in slow-motion.

Griffin gasps and pushes me away with such force that I fall onto my back. From there, I see Yacht rush at him, swinging a sword. Griffin scrambles back on his one good leg and hands, just out of reach of the blade.

I recover from the shock of being pushed back fast enough to jump onto Yacht's back before he can attack Griffin again.

I grip his right arm, using all my strength to to hold it back. He rips my arms free with his left hand and turns to me. My trembling hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out the pocketknife; my last resort.

I hold it up, fully prepared for it to be knocked from my grasp by his sword.

"Aw, isn't that cute," Yacht teases. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment. Do you think that puny weapon will stop me?"

His speech has given Griffin enough time to shakily make his way to his feet. He hops on one foot and tackles Yacht from his left, weaponless.

"No!" I cry as it unfolds before me. The two of them fall onto the ground. Griffin wrestles Yacht for the sword, but he's become too weak to hold up against him.

Yacht gains the upper-hand and I'm frozen by terror. I know what will happen next. I throw my hands over my face, trying to block it out. But it's inevitable.

The cannon sounds and I hear the announcement, congratulating Yacht and me for making it to the final round. A ladder drops, but I don't reach out for it. I remain in the same position, knees pulled to my chest, hands covering my face.

Eventually the ladder is dropped right on top of me, freezing me up to be lifted away.


	19. My Fairytale Ending

_I am thinking that I will write a sequel regarding the ending to this story. If you think I should, please let me know. Also, I may publish Griffin's point of view. I'd appreciate your input on this as well. If neither of these ideas are popular, I will begin another fan fiction, an OC about what lies beyond the borders of Panem. I'm hoping to get a positive response to it._

_Please enjoy this final chapter. Most of Orchid's thoughts and behaviors are inspired by the book I'm currently reading: "Speak" by Laurie Halse Anderson. I hope I have not disappointed you with its length; I tend to have trouble with endings._

* * *

><p>I sit in the cold room, soundless. My legs bend so I sit on my feet. My ankles become sore and my right calf falls asleep. I can feel despair coming on - cold and utter despair. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. Griffin is gone, with him my world. Everything I live for has disappeared with his last breath.<p>

It must be time to get onto the last metal plate, but I don't hear the announcement and I don't care. Again, a Peacekeeper marches in and places me on the plate, this time a lot gentler. Maybe he feels sorry for me. No, he doesn't. Peacekeepers can't feel.

* * *

><p>The plate rises, stops, goes still. Everything around me is still. Slowly, my senses return. I see grass and a forest a few feet in front of me. I hear wildlife and the distant sound of a bloodthirsty tribute already on the move. I feel the wind whip my hair back, seep through my clothes, causing my skin to tense with goosebumps.<p>

The tribute quickly finds their mark. This is the finally, so I assume the arena is small. I gingerly turn my head, searching for forms of escape. My little voice was right. I have nothing to live for. Might as well end it now. To my right is a wide river, the current so strong it would be impossible for the strongest swimmer to cross it. To my left, a cliff, dropping into a foggy abyss. Either would be a perfectly good way to die.

The forest is the only cover in this open field, and even that is so thin I can see straight through it, straight to the battle taking place on the other side.

The bloodthirsty tribute is Eleven, crazy and armed with a new spear and throwing daggers. Sponsor gifts.

Her target: Yacht. He's already split down the side, but Eleven has some damage as well. She's limping pretty severely.

I let my knees stop working and slip to the ground. Someone emerges from the forest and joins me. Rumor. She says something, but I don't make it out. My eyes are fixed on the battle ahead, my mind on my suicide plan.

I love my father. I may have loved Griffin, but maybe I'm too young to tell. I can't make it obvious that I'm giving up. It'd kill my father and I can't just let Griffin's death go un-avenged.

The plan forms. I silently root for Yacht to win the battle, getting excited when he landed a blow and subtly cringing when he was injured, even though it meant that if he won it'd make it easier for me.

I know the end has come when Rumor buries her face in my shoulder. I don't know how she's made it this long. I wonder if she even had a battle so far. Maybe not. Like me, she probably survived out of sheer luck. It's the advantage of this Quell. I don't think it was very well thought-out. Unlike me, she also had her intelligence to guide her.

Eleven falls, giving Yacht the chance to deliver the final blow. A splatter of blood, a cannon, a flinch from my frightened ally, and my plan is in motion. Yacht spots us and begins to stumble my way, obviously remembering our last meeting and his need for revenge. Well I need revenge too.

I rotate my shoulder, forcing Rumor's head to roll off of me. She looks up, teary-eyed, as I stand and make my way toward my evil district partner.

He's still armed with a sword, but he's far too weak to attack. I raise my scrawny, scarred arms and close them around his throat. He struggles to breath and shake me off, but I hold on tight. We stagger toward the edge of the cliff. I have to say, I'm a bit relieved. I'd rather die from the impact than drowning.

In some desperate attempt of freedom, Yacht slices my stomach open. I release my grip on his neck and he pushes me over the edge. My foot is just leaving the solid ground when adrenaline surges through me. I reach forward and grab Yacht's shirt.

My weight pulls him headfirst, and we tumble down together. He screams, but I am silent. I think I smile. It's done. I've finished my enemy and ended my own life in the process, without it looking like suicide.

It's a long drop, giving me plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to regret.

I should have said goodbye to Rumor. I should have finished the chicken she got for her birthday so I could be full when I died. I should have gone pee before coming to this arena. I should have screamed to make it seem like I didn't want to die.

Yacht's voice fades away as we near the bottom. For a split second I wonder if there's a force field on the ground that will throw us back up. I've seen it in some other Games. The Gamemakers don't like suicides.

What do I do if there is one? Let Yacht kill me? He might bleed to death before he can.

He's heavier than me; he hits the ground first. I hear the sickening impact of his body and anticipate my own end. It's time.

I close my eyes and slightly spread my arms as if to fly. And for the first time in my entire life, I feel the welcoming sensation of peace.


End file.
